The Noble and Ancient October Hunt
by Juulcy
Summary: The Noble and Ancient October Hunt has always been a very dangerous and exhilarating event that provokes a lot of controversy.
1. Chapter 1

PREPARATIONS

IN THE MAIN YARD

It was for the first time in his life that Draco was solely responsible for the whole organisation of the Noble and Ancient October Hunt. (Formerly known as the Noble and Ancient Pureblood October Hunt). Having an ambitious, black- and-white personality had made it a momentous task. Months before this day he had started plotting and planning. The one thing actually not in his hands, the weather, looked to be bending to his formidable will as well. For it would indeed be a gorgeous, crisp, clear October day. All the leaves on the huge Malfoy estate had turned brown, red or yellow and the air smelled wonderfully.

Draco had been up since the crack of dawn, checking, ordering, barking and problem solving. Had Pansy, or (almost) any other Hogwarts girl seen him this morning, they would have swooned. A solid all male presence with a highly attractive face and intense gray eyes. His hair was slightly messy today. His commanding personality domineered the whole yard. He could be totally charming en persuasive if he wanted to, but today was a day for clipped commands that needed to be executed immediately. Draco was wearing part of the traditional wizard hunting robe. Tight, black riding breeches , and a white cotton oxford shirt, the sleeves rolled up, for now.

At the moment he was drilling a quivering house-elf. The piteous creature had almost been pounded on the ground by the onslaught of Draco's questions.' So, you are ab-so-lu-tely sure about your instructions, you are sure about your bearings, you know which areas of the forest to avoid, you have everything you need? Recite your coordinates once more to me!' Draco demanded.

The elf rolled his eyes at that (unseen by Draco, luckily) and checked off all his queries again, counting them of on the fingers of his little green hand.

Draco nodded curtly, finally satisfied, and sent him of with a final warning: 'Whatever you do, do not end up dead, get lost, or worse, get caught by the wrong hunters. And do not get bitten too much, as it will reflect badly on us. We get enough shit about this as it is, Timbly'.

'Do not fear, Master will not be disappointed in Timbly, Sir. I is preparing the whole night. I is ironing my ears, to make sure I is making no mistakes today. Timbly's father, and Timbly's grandfather, and Timbly's great grand father (Draco started fidgeting) and Timbly's great great grand father where good prey. Timbly will be good prey. I is making Master proud. And with an beatific smile and a very loud crack, he apparated away.

AT THE SAME TIME

'Hermione', Charley said once again, clearly running out of patience. 'I really think you are wrong about this.  
I know I am the only one in this family that feels so strongly about it, but that's because I know. It is my work after all. I know animals, and I have seen with my own eyes that these horses and hounds are fine. More than fine actually. They are well fed and housed and are in pristine condition. They love to do what they are bred for. You trust Hagrid, don't you? He agrees with me on this one. Hermione clenched her jaw and shook her head. 'Sorry Charley, I hear what you say, but I still disagree. It was ever so nice of you to explain, but I will not ever be persuaded to see if differently.'  
She nodded vehemently after her last word.  
Charley gave up. He slumped back on his chair in the Burrow's kitchen, tilting it to sit on just the hind legs, something he would not dare if Molly were in the kitchen.  
He watched this girl with exasperation and fondness. Looking at her, it was impossible not to like and love Hermione, he thought. If he did not have Tatiana waiting for him back in Romania, he certainly would have tried to see if there might be more possible than just a friendship with his brother's best friend.  
For Hermione was simply stunning. All the more so because she had no clue. Long curly chestnut hair with a personality of it's own. Beautiful chocolate brown eyes, the window to her soul.  
A pretty, flawless face with pink kissable lips. And her body, well, he reflected, covertly looking her up from under his eyelashes, and feeling his stomach clench a little, her body was.. -just-fine-.

At that moment, more Weasley's started piling in into the small cozy kitchen. Some, like Ron and George, definitely not quite awake. Hermione beamed at them all, excited and happy now.  
She started handing out the badges that she had charmed in preparation for today. Ginny pinned on hers and grinned as it flashed alternatively S.P.E.W. and ' Malfoy stinks'. 'Well Mione, that's not really an insult au par with your usual wit and intelligence' Fred said, smirking. But Harry smiled happily in answer to that: ' I know mate, but she made it so, especially for me, since it was Malfoy who made the 'Potter Stinks' badges during the triwizard tournament. I think Malfoy will understand and appreciate this, we are stooping right to his level here'.

Arthur came busting in through the kitchen's backdoor. He looked as exited as a small boy on Christmas morning, eyes alight with manic enthusiasm. 'What do you think' he asked as he put up a picket-line like protestation sign. It read: 'we do not condone in any way, type or form, the hunting of house-elves, even be it that they themselves claim to like it. And also we do not think that other magical creatures such as hell horses and haring hounds should be used or abused in any way, type or form in such a hunt. Or at any other moment, for that matter, actually.'  
All of this was written in tiny letters, to fit onto the sign. One corner of Hermione's mouth went up, as she exchanged a quick amused glance with Harry. 'Well…. Ehm… it is lovely, really, but ehm… but I think something short and strong will put the message across better. Arthur's shoulders drooped a little at this. 'I do know that that's exactly what protesting muggles would do….,' she added.  
At that Arthur righted his shoulders again and said ' oh really, oh, alright, I'll go and change it then.'  
'You might want to put something on it like 'Stop the abuse of house-elves in hunting' Hermione shot at him as he departed again.


	2. Chapter 2

HAIL OCTOBER

_Hail october, bright and chill, First freedman of the summer sun!_

After sending Timbly off, Draco headed towards the area where his stables were. He could hear the excited sounds his horses made. Hoofs scraping and stamping, some snorting and whining. The voices of the stable lads joining in. Admonishing their charges to calm down, and shouting instructions and encouragements to each other. Draco loved these sounds and the smells of the stable.  
He made a bee line for the stable in the far end corner of the yard, where his own favourite Hare Horse was. He wanted to check on her personally, because no matter how good his horsemanship, without a fit horse he would not go far today. 'Ah, Master Malfoy,' his head lad called. 'Granger has been rearing to go. She won't stand still for nothin' .' It's a right smart one, this lady. Knows somethin' big is goin' ter happen today, I reckon'. Draco smiled his rare, soft smile at the beautiful chestnut. 'Yes, she is really the brightest one in the stable, isn't she?'

_Draco's friends had literally keeled over from laughter a few years ago, when they had heard how he had named his new horse. ' A rare, expensive thoroughbred Hare Horse named Granger', Nott had not stopped snickering for hours. 'Yeah,' Zabini had added, ' he figured this would be the only way to ever mount a Granger.' 'Oh, thanks, Zabini, great', Draco had scoffed ' Like I really needed that image. She was simply the most stubborn and annoying horse I had ever encountered. A total waste of Galleons. It took me four weeks, just to get her to stand still and let me touch her. So I named her Granger. How was I to know that she would turn out to be my best horse ever. It's too late now, and she will not listen to any other name. I have the most beautiful, fabulous horse, and it is called Granger, after the most ugly and stuck up girl.'_

When the stable hand had left, Draco put his head close to Granger's: 'Hey, my girl, are you ready? We have a long hard day ahead, you and I. You'll be taxed to your limits. But I'll take good care of you, don't you worry.' And Draco softly nuzzled her neck. Granger snorted back, just as her human namesake might have done, as if to say: ' I can take whatever work you put my way'.

Now Draco hurried back to the manor, where more work waited him. He went to the huge kitchen, the nerve centre of today's activities. Two dozen or more house-elves were working feverishly at long tables. Human maids and footmen were going in and out, carrying trays piled high with bread, treacle tarts, pumpkin pies, sausages and backed eggs. Others were walking past with big vats of liquor from one of the many cellars of the manor. It was tradition that the huntsmen and women were sent of with a healthy breakfast and a swig of the best firewhiskey, and of course lots of brown butter-ale, to wash it all down with.

'No, no, no, I tell you it won't work'. Blaise pounded his fist in frustration on one of the kitchen tables that had been cleared for their use. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle and several other Slytherins from Draco's year where huddled over maps and charts on the table. 'Men, what's up?' Draco frowned as he neared the table. Blaise whirled towards him, obviously upset. He worriedly ruffled his hair. 'I keep telling Nott here, that I think it would be better not to spread too thin on the ground. I tell you, they will bring their whole goddamn pitiful army. Potty and Weasel in the lead, and no doubt, the entire red-head clan. And your Granger, with her indignation and her brain.' 'She is not my Granger', Draco said absentmindedly, while looking at the map in front of him. 'What if,' he said, 'we just rely on diversion. We will not try to drive them out, or herd them away from the action. Instead we will try to lure them towards –that- (he stabbed with his finger on the map) part of the forest.'  
'So', Goyle eyed him suspiciously, 'what is there, in- that- (his finger landed on the map next to draco's finger) part of the forest, then? 'I understand that it has always been a no-go area for the hunt, and now you want us to go there?' 'No, Goyle', Draco answered 'you will not go there. No one of us will. We will just join the hunt, and we will trick the commoners to go there. Don't you worry your pretty little head about what's there. By the time they have figured it out, we will all be back.'  
'I am sorry about this last minute change of plan, after all our work, but I think it is for the best.' Draco added.  
'I am all for it.' Blaise was clearly verry happy with this solution. 'I really fear trying to counter some sort of Guerrilla warfare tactic would not have worked.'  
'You know', Draco mussed 'it has been a long standing tradition that al sorts of rif-raf would come and gape at the departure of the Hunt. But this century it has steadily become more of a nuisance. The last time it was held, before the Hunt was cancelled due to the war, father had a wicked old time chasing them of the grounds. When the hunt came back, they were sitting on our front lawn and in our gardens, picnicking and barbecuing merrily, without a care in the world. Father really almost blew himself up that day.' 'Bar ehm be.. eh.. what', Blaze asked, intrigued. ' Never mind, never mind, not important', Draco said, snapping out of his memory. We have to decide quickly on a way to lure them away, the guests and their horses will arrive shortly. And I still have to go and welcome the Master of the Hell Hounds.'

_Spice high the bowl and drink your fill! Thank Heaven, at last the summer's done! _

I suggest a vote on it, Hermione said primly. 'I vote against it, and all who agree should raise their hands now.' And she stuck op hers. More hands followed. Ginny, Harry, Arthur, Charley and Luna among them. 'Not fair!,' George shouted. 'You are not even coming with us, so you do not get to vote, Charley-boy,' agreed Fred. 'What use are we if we cannot even bring our very own newly developed weasleys wizzarding fireworks with fringes.' He added. 'Yeah, it is not like we truly care who gets thrown of off their horses, or if these Hell Hounds take of with their tails between their legs.' George said.  
Everybody started to shout and talk through one another at this point. 'I think,' Hermione pressed on, raising her voice, 'that we really should go about this in a dignified way, and show the world that these are serious and important issues. People like the Malfoys and the Parkinsons, must not be allowed to carry on their ancient, outdated and awful practices, abusing elves and magical animals.'  
After counting the raised hands it was decided, much to Hermione's relief, that the twins would not bring fireworks with them. She missed the look of significance that passed between Fred, George and Ron upon this decision.

'And now for our battle plans,' Ron continued. He was to take over the scheming from here.  
Hermione's task was the organisation of a new element this day, the muggle-style protestations at the gate. But the real sneaky part, the true battle, would be planned and executed by Arthur and Ron. Arthur of course, because he had been a major factor in disrupting this annual pureblood party ever since his own father had taken him with him, each third weekend in October.

Ron, because he was a good chessplayer, with good tactical skills, -all be it a tad too hot headed-. He was to be groomed by Arthur to start leading the next generation of Malfoy-Weasley battles.  
Ron had great hopes for today. While laying out the maps of the Malfoy estate on the messy table, he could already picture himself sitting on Malfoy's lawn, lounging, drinking butterbeer and feeding Malfoy's bloody white peacocks bits of his sandwich. And then he imagined the Ferret's face, as they came home from a dismally failed Hunt, followed by disheartened drooping dogs, and Pancy, on a white horse, with her blond hair loose, for once not looking at the Ferret as if the sun shone out of his arse, but at him, with admiring eyes, and… Whoa.. Ron tried to rain in this particular fantasy. Where did that come from?

'Oke, everyone,' Arthur took over, as Ron had his head bent deep over a map, and was apparently not going to say more.' Everyone, this is what we will do this day. We divide our whole group into small groups, two to four in each group. Our motto for today is divide and rule. We will lay faked scent trails everywhere. Excellently brewed Elf scent is provided to us by Snape. He is not here today, for he does not want to be seen near us, or near the Estate, for that matter. But it did please him greatly for some reason to aid us in our little plan. And who are we to deny our war hero his small pleasures.'

They all snickered at this. Snape had gone slightly barmy after the war. The strain of being a double spy and almost dying, and the freedom after the war, had made him into a different man. A much more likable man, actually, who was now Headmaster of Hogwarts, and was thought to be channelling some of the late Dumbledore's mischievous spirit.

He was not the only ex-death eater who had not come out of the war unscathed. Malfoy senior (turned traitor on Voldemort at the very last part of the war) had snapped after being confronted with his wrong choices in the past, and the consequent total mess he had made of everything. He was currently being treated at St. Mungo 's. (In his own newly built wing. -Only the best for a Malfoy- ) for a severe form of depression. Some might call it guilt, but somehow nobody had yet dared to suggest that to him.

'Furthermore,' Ron had gathered himself and took over from Arthur, 'we will each of us carry a bag with assorted goodies that Mum made, to distract the Hell Hounds. I know Hell Hounds are really scary, (Ron looked slightly green and nauseous at that) but we have the assurance of Hagrid, that once they have set their teeth into a nice sausage, their murderous anger dissipates, and they will let you pet them.' At this, even Charley looked incredulous.  
'Well,' Charley said, 'as you know, I am not in favour of this whole expedition, and I would highly recommend to just stay clear of the hounds. If they do catch you, by all means stand still, do-not- move- a- muscle, do not look them in the eye, and pray for rescue. His eyes landed on Hermione. While looking at her unfathomably he said: It would really be –a crying shame- if any of you, were to be bitten by these dogs, as their wounds are cursed and will always leave a scar.'

'Oh, Yeah, and,' Ginny piped, 'Mum, Harry and I will take care of all the provisions. We expect you at your earliest convenience, (some smiles around the table at that) on the Malfoy lawn, for some seriously good food and entertainment. Disillusioned of course, until the Hunt returns.' Harry did not look too happy at this, but since he was still convalescing from a serious injury he got in his first British Quidditch finals, he was in no shape to go running around in the Estate's Woods.


	3. Chapter 3

AT THE FENCE

_The grass is always greener…._

Draco had unfolded his plan (preconceived by him weeks ago) how they would go about sidetracking the Weasley-clan to the remote area on the Estate, away from the Hunt.  
His friends, Blaise and Theo, who were officially on the organising committee, had agreed to the ploy.  
'I hope it will work Malfoy,' Nott frowned.' You depend a lot on Weasley's reaction.'  
Draco exuded more confidence than he really felt at this point, but, as a true leader, he hid his doubt.

Inconspicuously Draco walked out of the kitchens, towards a quiet corner in the perpetually blooming rose garden.  
There his mother stood, vaguely miming a person pruning the roses.  
The war had taken its toll on her as well. Mrs. Malfoy was still a beautiful, stately woman, but nowadays "the house was empty", as Blaise had said behind Draco's back. She went through the motions of living, but only once in a while her eyes really focused on her surroundings. Draco doted on his mother and made sure her every need was catered for.  
Passing her in the garden, he pecked a kiss on her cheek, and got a sweet, absentminded smile in return.  
In a dark spot behind the toolshed Draco apparated away soundlessly to a manor a few miles away from his own.

This manor belonged to an aristocratic muggle family, the Porckupeine-Wutherspools, who had lived on these grounds probably as long as the Malfoy's had lived on theirs.  
Finding his neighbour was never hard. The eccentric muggle, Lord Rodericke Porckupeine, was always in his courtyard, tinkering with his old-timer cars, or just sitting there, getting seriously pissed. Draco liked his neighbour. His wealth and his charming company making up for his Muggleness.  
Being perpetually drunk, -and unworldly weird, like only the very rich can afford to be-, Rodericke was never baffled by the curious comings and goings of his neighbours. He had heard all sorts of rumours of course, but he had always brushed them off as pish-posh. The Malfoy's were jolly nice people in his opinion.  
Draco invited Rodericke to the sending off of the Hunt. He easily extracted a favourable answer with the promise of excellent booze, company and admiring eyes for his old-timer.  
Before taking his leave Draco surreptitiously pointed his wand at Lord Porckupeine back and whispered a string of words under his breath.

Back in the manor Draco finally met with the Master of Hell Hounds. This Ergard Stoone was a sturdy, earthly wizard. Not unlike a smaller version of that oaf Hagrid, Draco thought. But, meeting this chap's calculating sharp gaze, he new here was a force to be reckoned with. Probably just as well because their safety depended on his total command of his helpers, the Huntsmen and Whippers –in, as well as the Hell Hounds.  
Draco got his first look at the pack of Hell Hounds, kept on thick leather leashes by Stoone's kennelmen. They were vicious dog-like creatures. Bigger than wolves, with poisonous fangs, fierce red eyes, big clawed sharp paws and an unrivalled sense of smell. They had been bred for centuries by pureblood wizards to flush out and oppress other magical creatures such as elves and goblins. Nowadays of course, they were no longer so employed. The dogs were solely used in games such as the October Hunt. Funnily enough Stoone was a very mild halfblood wizard. He had fled up North during the war with his pack, to avoid being drafted by Voldemort.

The yard, the stable courts and the front lawn were by now packed with wizards on hare horses, or still on foot. All dressed in the finest traditional wizard hunting robes. Food, drink and laughter everywhere as old acquaintances met, friends were embraced, stories were swapped and horses were shown off.  
Draco moved around in the midst of this all, shook hands, smiled, bowed, smiled more, inciting warm feelings of friendship and a little envy in the men, and longing in every witch under 70.

…_At the other side of the fence._

At the end of the lawn was a huge gate with golden bars, sided by an intricate golden and green fence. There, a large crowd had gathered. Mostly wizards from the nearby wizarding hamlet Wellerby-on-Brook, quite a few wizard-tourists as well, sporting camera's. Some had transfigured wooden branches into comfortable chairs, and set and chatted amongst each other.

And there was the press. Draco took a double take. Lots of press, actually. He spotted that idiot from the Quibbler, the young wizard from the Daily Prophet, Witches Weekly, and several other newspapers. That was a first. Reporters had never come to the countryside for this event. They just bought the story and the pictures from the regional news rag. Even Rita Skeeter was present, quick quotes quill at the ready.

'What the fuck, ' Draco fumed. This had the signature of -Granger-. And indeed, there she was. He saw her walking up to the reporters. 'Surrounded by her minions. 'Draco thought disgustedly. 'She walks like the bloody muggle queen.' Nobody had seen Draco yet, as he watched the gathering. Granger, Potter, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley.. My, they had opened up the whole can of worms. Loony Lovegood, sporting an outrageously big hat with antlers. Neville Longbottom, of course. Were Loony went, Neville followed. (The couple had been an unending source of mirth for Draco's friends ever since they hooked up). And what was it they were carrying, it looked like white flat boards?

His eyes went to Granger again. She was wearing one of her own knitted elf hats. Somehow this ridiculous sight suddenly took Draco's breath away. She was gorgeous. Why had he never seen that. Had she always been this beautiful? He felt as if someone had stomped him in the gut. And right at that moment, Hermione's gaze shifted. Still smiling at something Luna had said, she looked straight at Draco across the fence. Her breath hitched and she felt an electric current going straight to her core. Time stood still as they kept staring into each other's eyes. Electrifying grey eyes meeting melting brown.

Abruptly things changed as a reporter nudged Hermione with his arm to ask some questions. Shocked to the bone, Hermione tried to get a hold on herself. She launched into a passionate plea for the rights of house-elves, her S.P.E.W. badge flashing brightly as she voiced her opinions on abolishing the old and cruel practice of hunting.

Draco shook himself out of his dreamlike state, and understood that is was time to begin a counter attack. He quickly called over some reporters to his side of the fence. Immediately they flocked to him, the attractive witch from Witches Weekly in the lead. Draco gave a very contained, reasonable plea for the preservation of the Hunting tradition. He explained that the elf prey was never chosen by wizards, but always volunteered. Only the head strong and independent elves were ever prey, because it would not work otherwise. If they succeeded in not getting caught, clothes would be their reward. (That did not actually mean they left the family or stopped working, and no wages were ever paid, but Draco thought it better not to dwell on that.) 'The clothes,' he said, 'usually a riding cap, are proudly worn as a badge of honour.' 'And,' he added, 'no house elves have been killed in the Hunt for over a century.' (Two got lost or disappeared, but that also was better not mentioned).  
'The Hunt,' he concluded, 'furthermore has a great social function in the wizarding world, because not often pureblood wizards get to mingle in such an informal way. Many a romantic wedding has it's roots in a meeting at the October Hunt.'  
The blonde witch from Witches Weekly squealed at that. 'Ohh,' Lord Malfoy, 'and have you yet met the witch of your dreams?' Draco's eyes strayed to were Hermione was standing, back turned to him. 'I.. ehm.. I have no,.. no comment on that,' he said, giving the witch a bland smile.

Hermione wanted desperately to look at Malfoy again, but she was ambushed and dragged away by Ron and Arthur to a spot a little away from the crowd.  
'Listen Hermione, 'Arthur whispered, 'we have just had the most extraordinary conversation with a muggle.' Arthur beamed. 'It was a very interesting man. He has this really old car that he maintains all by himself. He had the most fascinating stories about carburatings and sparkling plugs. His car can go so fast he says it almost feels like flying. How about that!' topped Arthur off.  
Ron looked at his father fondly.  
'Yes, 'he said, ' but the important part was that this muggle lives next to the Malfoy estate, and he says that he knows a back-way into the grounds. Says it's been there for as long as his family lived here, which is like centuries apparently, and it has never been discovered. Uses it sometimes when he wants to take a stroll in the woods.'  
Hermione was so distracted by her longing for another look at Malfoy, that she did not hear the little voice in her head questioning the convenient appearance of this muggle. It was quickly decided, in the most rash of Griffindor ways, that they would change tactics, and use this back-entrance. But first, they had to give the Hunt a warm send off, with their protestation signs and the yells Hermione had made them practice.

Although a corner of Draco's mind was still puzzling over his intense feelings at seeing Hermione, he was sufficiently composed to mount Granger and call out: 'Master of Hounds, give your signal!'  
Master Stoone, seated on a big black stallion, raised his arm, catching the attention of his huntsmen and whippers-in. A palpable ripple of excitement went through horses and riders alike. As his arm came down the horns sounded their ancient traditional signal, the hounds howled and barked and off they went. The ground was literally trembling from the pounding hoofs of forty or more horses. The hoofs clattering sound mingled with shouts en whoops from the wizards.

Hermione was more than a little miffed as the villagers and tourists started to clap at the magnificent sight of the procession coming round the corner alongside the fence. And what a sight it was. Excitedly running hounds , prancing and trotting hare horses, the colourfully attired wizards in the traditional hunting robes of black riding breeches, black boots, white frocks and scalet robes. All of them were wearing riding caps with ribbons at the back. Some robes were adorned with golden buttons, an indication of the function of huntsman or Whipper-in.

'Oh look,' Harry said to Ron, who was furtively trying to locate Pansy, 'Isn't that lad on the grey horse Stan Shunpike? I wondered what had happened to him after the war.'  
'Apparently he has made it to whipper-in' Ron answered.  
In preparation for today the boys had been drilled by Hermione in the details of this Hunt. So Stan's task today would be to assist in keeping the pack together. Not one of the hounds should be permitted to go straying or rioting. -going of alone in another direction to follow a different scent-.  
'Not a good sign if we're dependent on the likes of him to keep the hounds from having a go at us,' Ron said worried.

Then all hell broke loose. As the protesters began chanting and waving their signs in the air, huge coloured stars and arrows exploded with horrendous bangs en wheezes all around them. The procession took of at breathtaking speed as the hare horses freaked out. Jumping meters high and far, the wizards on them could only hang on for dear life with the dogs running after them to catch up.


End file.
